


Blame It on the Denim

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Denim, M/M, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 19:21:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has a thing for denim.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blame It on the Denim

Bro Strider wasn't a name that crossed John's mind often. It wasn't a name that filled his gut with anxieties, sent his mind in a frenzy, haunted his dreams. Bro was just his less-stoic-than-he-wished-he-was best friend's enigmatic older brother. Enigmatic and oddly-dressed older brother. His sense of style had never been subtle, but it didn't particularly bother John, either. At most, it was a joke, a slight taunt, something to poke fun at Bro for. Bro didn't care, though; he was confident enough to accept a few jabs about his attire. Sure enough to take a taunt at his pointy shades, the way his collar was always popped, the kitschy buckle of his belt. They were all free-range when it came to cracking jokes.

There was one article of clothign that John couldn't bring himself to make fun of, however.

It was a faded blue thing, made from the same material as the jeans on his legs, something that fit snuggly along Bro's torso and cut off right before his belt line. There was a symbol pressed into the back -- some logo for a company -- and the patch of an eagle sat on the bottom edge of the center, almost hitting the small of Bro's back.

The first time he wore it, Dave made a remark -- that was the tradition, Bro would show off his newest article of clothing to the two young'uns would mock him for his appearance. His remark had something to with Billy Cyrus and maybe Bro should cave in and shave his hair into a mullet. When John opened his mouth to comment on it, his words caught along with his breath in the back of his throat. Dave and Bro both looked at him at the small noise he made, and he sat there with his mouth open, feeling like a fish.

"Um...I like it."

Dave pouted, deflated and betrayed by his riffing buddy. Bro was walking on air, all arrogance and denim.

That was when John started to view Bro in a different light.

It was just the jacket, though. It wasn't the man beneath it. It was just a very nice jacket.

They way Bro started to inhabit his dreams, how he invaded John's every thought, it was only because he was the jacket's owner, the jacket belonged to him. They were linked. It was only right that John would keep them together in his fantasies.

Not that he was actively fantasizing about either of them.

It was just a nice jacket. John's thoughts had nothing to do with Bro himself.

It was the jacket's fault that he kept finding reasons to hang around Bro. It had nothing to do with the fact that maybe, just maybe, there was more to Bro then initially met the eye. Maybe John was beginning to notice the smaller things about him. Like the way he spoke, the accent that was clearly affected -- he had never noticed it before, but now that he found himself paying more attention to what Bro said, it was obvious how exaggerated that southern drawl was. Neither had he noticed the cut of Bro's jaw, the way it turned as sharply as a comic book character. John wondered idly, if he ran his thumb across it, would it cut his skin?

He also found himself wondering what the hell kind of genes created children with red and orange eyes. Certainly not an average one. He noticed the creases beneath the eyes, hiding behind the shades he had made so many jokes about. He wondered what sort of reaction he would get out of Bro if he ran his fingers across them, wondered whether or not Bro's eyes would flutter shut beneath his fingertips, wondered what the skin of his eyelids would feel like.

He wondered how long it would take to get that jacket off of Bro.

He forced himself to stop there. It was only the jacket he was interested in, after all, not the person underneath it.

Soon after, John expressed an interest in denimwear to good old Dad and, sure enough, come Christmastime, he was gifted his very own denim jacket.

It wasn't what he wanted.

His jacket was crisp to the touch, dark to the eyes, bright and bold and _new_. John wanted faded, dull, a growing hole in the shoulder and tear in the collar. Fabric that was soft to the touch, worn down -- but was it due to years of use, or because it had been purchased second-hand?

That was what he found in the Striders' closet one afternoon. He had followed Dave home after school after bursting a baloon full of shaving cream over his best friend's head. Dave had grumbled as John laughed and they walked down the street together. The prank had left Dave covered in white froth, so he was in the shower now. John had meant to be a good guest, to stay planted on the couch with his eyes glued to the TV as he waited for Dave. But his eyes lingered. Across the living room and towards the hall, where the closet was.

John knew what lay behind that door.

_Denim._

His legs carried his body thoughtlessly across the room and to the closet, and in moments he was looking at the jacket. He hadn't seen it in a while; the weather was cold enough that Bro had taken to wearing something a little heavier outdoors. But it still looked the same. Felt just as soft between his fingertips. Still smelt of tobacco and that apple-scented body scrub John had seen in the bathroom, mingling together with other the other undiscernible fragrances to create the scent that was so unique to Bro, the scent that John had grown accustomed to.

John pulled the jacket closer to his face, taking in a great breath and closing his eyes and letting the scent fill his senses. He felt overwhelmed, felt dizzy, but he only breathed in deeper as realization sunk in.

It wasn't the jacket he liked so much.

This scent he was breathing in; it was Bro's. It wasn't the jacket. It was Bro. He wanted to be clinging onto Bro, to be overwhelmed by Bro, to feel dizzy because it was Bro in his arms, noses pressed together, clinging onto one another.

The jacket was just an accessory. A nice one, but an accessory.

It wasn't longer after this realization hit him that he heard the clearing of a throat and turned his head to see Bro, standing in the living room, leaning casually against the back of the futon. He hadn't heard Bro come in, hadn't even heard the door open, and now here he was, groping this denim jacket right in front of it's owner.

_Shit._

"John." Bro was walking towards him now. "Whatcha doin'?"

John mumbled something, wanting to explain, trying to explain, but not wanting to reveal the truth.

"Stop." Bro waved a hand in front of him. "I think I know what's going on."

"You do?"

"Mmhmm." Bro nodded, pulling the jacket out of John's grip. "And I'm flatter, I really am, but...you're just not my type, li'l Skipper." He ended his statement by ruffling John's hair and John felt sick at his touch.

He wanted more than a hair ruffle, wanted more than fleeting palm-to-scalp contact. It seemed almost cruel how quickly Bro was to act; John was rejected as soon as he learned he had feelings to reject. Though they had been apparent to Bro all along, it seemed.

The whole thing made him want to flee.

"I think I'll...go home."

"You want a ride?" Bro asked. He'd hung the jacket back up in the closet and was now headed towards the kitchen.

"No." John shook his head, too embarrassed to look up in case Bro was looking at him. He walked quickly through the living room and towards the door.

"See ya later, kiddo," Bro said as John walked through the door.

Once on the other side, he leaned against the door, closing his eyes and pulling off his backpack. He opened the zipper, slipping a hand inside and pressing against the cool denim. He hadn't meant to swipe the jacket, but as soon as Bro turned his back, well...he couldn't help himself. And he certainly couldn't deny the thrill his prankster's gambit felt as he pulled the jacket out and slipped it on over his slender arms. It was far too big on him considering Bro was about twice his size, but it was nice. Comforting, despite his recent rejection.

Bro would notice the jacket's absence eventually. He would demand it back. It would be an excuse for John to see him again, to spend more time with him.

He told himself he was being a delusional fool, told himself that Bro had very clearly rejected him. It wasn't his fault that his mind kept pondering over scenarios, wondering _what if?_ The smell of tobacco and apples and _Bro_ filled his nostrils and made him dizzy, and he knew he couldn't be blamed for his thoughts.

It was the jacket's fault.


End file.
